LORD FROTH. By heavens, I have slept an age. Sir Paul, what
o'clock is't? Past eight, on my conscience; my lady's is the most
inviting couch, and a slumber there is the prettiest amusement! But
where's all the company?

SIR PAUL. The company, gads-bud, I don't know, my lord, but here's
the strangest revolution, all turned topsy turvy; as I hope for
providence.

LORD FROTH. O heavens, what's the matter? Where's my wife?

SIR PAUL. All turned topsy turvy as sure as a gun.

LORD FROTH. How do you mean? My wife?

SIR PAUL. The strangest posture of affairs!

LORD FROTH. What, my wife?

SIR PAUL. No, no, I mean the family. Your lady's affairs may be in
a very good posture; I saw her go into the garden with Mr. Brisk.

LORD FROTH. How? Where, when, what to do?

SIR PAUL. I suppose they have been laying their heads together.

LORD FROTH. How?

SIR PAUL. Nay, only about poetry, I suppose, my lord; making